The Measure of Elliott

The regression room contained no windows or other sources of natural light. About the size of a usual therapy room, it was a considerably large space that still felt claustrophobic. The grey cement render that coated the walls prevented noise from drifting down the hallway and inevitably upsetting the other patients, more importantly it prevented any sound from outside getting in during the session. It was a space that few girls in the female wing of the Submissive Reconditioning Programme—SRP for short—spoke introspectively about, between each other or with the wider clinician team. Instead it existed like a ghost at the end of the corridor. An impermanent, large black steel door that only existed when it was time for a girl to be dragged there with a doctor's assistant under each arm, black rubber apron and all.

Once the door to the regression room closed, the world outside ceased to exist. It was simply the patient, the team, and the necessary therapeutic task of regressing her back through any unresolved sexual trauma from her previous domestic service before she was finally approved to go back into the state organised match-making programme. All of the therapy was medicinal, warrant signed and court ordered too, although that didn't stop the procedures being excruciatingly personal and deeply humiliating for each patient. To prepare submissives to re-enter domestic service a strong stomach was required, desensitising the submissives to their previous triggers was not the job for gentle, weak hearts — trauma could not be removed but simply rewired, and the intense sensory response to sexual trauma was greatly reduced through consistent regression, conditioning, reprogramming, and orgasm therapy — usually one session per fortnight over a period of months until considerable recovery was gained.

God have mercy on the girls who were tough cookies to crack, their therapy sessions were long and bi-weekly frequent down to the strike of the evening clock. Sometimes, when a girl was being dragged down the hallway, the fresh intake of new girls peeked out of the tiny port window of their room, morbidly curious about what it was that happened behind that large steel door at the end of the hallway that no one seemed to talk about. The girls who had time under their belt knew better, they just hung their heads and grew uncomfortably silent when it was somebody else's turn to visit the room, quietly readying for bed, filled with dreadful thoughts about when the time would come that doctors in black rubber aprons would come to drag them down there for another round of their own, personal regression therapy.

Tonight, it was Juniper's first turn.

Juniper was one of the youngest residents in programme across both the female and male clinics, barely nineteen, still girlish, delicate and slender like a doe, although that didn't stop her acting like a woman twice her age and build when she felt threatened.

Juniper had been matched with a male dominant who owned a horse ranch south of the county, a farming man who by all accounts was most at home wrangling beasts and cattle. The Department of Domestic Welfare caught up to him eventually after the missed home visits began to add up and the high court finally issued a warrant to search his property. The illegal copy of 'Dark Disciplines' discovered in the back of his desk was enough to earn a prison sentence alone. The old, outdated book of harsh punishment practices was a stain on the reputation of the country's forefathers four generations prior, a now illegal memoir of the way the world once was at the turn of the last century. The physical evidence littered across Juniper's fragile body that proved he had been implementing punishment measures from the dark book of practices ensured he was issued a life-long ban from interacting with submissives, banished to the cold eastern-most colonies to serve out his prison sentence and live out the rest of his days in the company of other dominants who represented a threat to this newer, more accountable world. If that wasn't enough, his land and business was claimed by the government and sold to benefit submissive health initiatives like the reconditioning programme itself.

Of course, those totalitarian punishments alone could never heal Juniper's deep emotional scars.

It didn't take much more than a wayward look for Juniper to become violent with male staff, sometimes the other girls too if she felt threatened enough. In the four weeks she had been settling in, there was only one person in the entire facility that Juniper had taken somewhat of a shine too. A female doctor by the name of Elliott Addams, and there was no doubt in any of the staff members' minds as to why it was exactly that Juniper became so agreeable and calm when good doctor Elliott was around.

Elliott was a fairly new acquisition, highly sort after due to her expertise. She was nearly six foot tall, muscular, long blonde hair, whip smart, maybe on the cusp of forty, with the faint cross-shaped birthmark that signalled her dominant disposition sat politely on her tanned wrist — only occasionally peeking out from behind her leather watch. For a rural-born submissive like Juniper, a female dominant was a wondrous oddity. It helped that Elliott Addams also happened to be timid and quiet as a mouse, keeping to herself for the most part.

While the other doctors and staff congregated in the office for lunch, Elliott always ate in the patient recreation room — happy in her world of broken, healing little women like a toymaker concerned only with her work. The girls left her alone to read her books in peace for the most part, respecting the unspoken divide between patients and staff.

All except for Juniper.

Juniper liked to sit quietly beside the tall doctor, sometimes so close that she almost got underneath her. Juniper would eat her sandwiches, exist peacefully in the silence, catch glimpses of whatever Elliott was reading, until eventually the doctor would roll her eyes and push the gaudy, 60s romance book between them so Juniper could read along too. They did that day in, day out, every meal time, reading and sharing snacks for six days solid before they even uttered a single word to one another. Yet by that point their close connection was already whispered about by the other doctors, mumbled between nurses, disapproval absolutely everywhere as the new girl from room six seemed to permanently traipse within the doctor's shadow.

When the time came for Juniper's regression therapy to begin, the big wigs who directed the programme knew there could only be one doctor to lead her treatment. It was an official test that bore more weight than the other doctors let on, a punishment intended to remind the quiet, meek Doctor Elliott Addams that interpersonal relationships were deeply frowned upon for a reason. Elliott remained unphased despite the expectation for failure. Four weeks of bonding had provided her with ample opportunity to understand the fine minutiae of Juniper's case that even the psychotherapists had missed, and she had long anticipated she would be charged with doing the difficult work.

Measured and quiet, Elliott walked her rounds and wrote up her orders with utter giddiness hidden away in her stomach all afternoon. Nothing made the doctor happier than an opportunity to defy expectations, and that was precisely what she intended on doing.

***

The orderlies who came for her were hidden away behind black surgical masks, their usual white uniforms traded for black surgical gowns, rubber aprons, scrub caps, and elbow length latex gloves, everything black and ominous. Juniper sat on the edge of her bed in surprise as they strode into her room in a neat line, propelled with a sense of measured urgency. She looked at her roommate in hopes that she would co-opt her surprise. She didn't, her roommate simply turned her head away and stared at the sink basin as though she could barely stomach the sight of them.

"Juniper, come with us please. It's time for your therapy session." It was said with a sense of polite authority.

Juniper felt the urge to fight slip up the palm of her back, she took a deep breath, knuckles clenching, weighing up her options as the three faceless sentinels stood patiently in front of her as though they were equally happy to oblige and do things the difficult way too. There had been the whispering of stories from some of the other new girls about the room at the end of the hall but no concrete evidence, just scraps of information they had heard from unreliable sources. Still, Juniper didn't want to find out why it was girls came back from the unspoken room changed as people. She didn't fancy her chances, but life had taught her that sometimes violence was the only tool of negotiation on the table.

Before she could start to spit and cause problems, a familiar face suddenly appeared at the door.

"Ah, Juni! There you are." Doctor Elliott smiled slightly and stepped inside, her eyes glancing around until they landed on the open copy of Great Expectations placed on the bedside table. "What do you think so far? I always thought Miss Havisham was a very relatable character the deeper you get into the book. Are you far in?" She blinked, sucking the oxygen from the fire with nothing more than quietly-spun pedestrian questions.

"Erm, three chapters so far, I think." Juniper stumbled slightly and relaxed her clenched fingers.

"You're making quick work." Doctor Elliott lifted her brows, utterly impressed. "I'm re-reading Little Dorrit at the moment, when I'm finished you can borrow that too. Here—" Doctor Elliott picked up the dog-eared book from the bedside table and handed it to Juniper. "Why don't you bring it with you? There's an observation room you'll be sleeping in for the night after our therapy session. A little creature comfort might make it feel more homely." She quirked the corner of her mouth.

Juniper clutched the book close to her chest and peered at her shoes, softening and waning despite her own instincts. She had never seen her favourite doctor out of uniform like this before — normally Doctor Elliott wore a long white coat and neat black trousers, her hair scraped back into a tidy bun, make up pristine and light — but tonight she was wearing worn blue jeans, an oversized comfy looking sweater that was pushed up around her elbows, not a scrap of makeup on her freckled cheeks, and brown suede loafers that were square-shaped at the toes. It looked as though she was ready to go home for the evening, far away from this place and all the tragic ghosts that wandered its hallways.

Juniper fantasised that maybe the older woman would take her to wherever she was going.

"Come on," Doctor Elliott whispered, stirring Juniper from thinly-spun fantasies with an outstretched hand. "Let's do this together."

Moments later, they were walking down the long hallway, barely talking but enjoying the small conversation there was to be had about the books they were currently reading. The three black uniformed sentinels followed closely behind, but Doctor Elliott placed her arm around Juniper's shoulder and didn't let her catch sight of them. The closer they got towards the open door at the end of the hallway emanating a low dim, the more Juniper felt like a snake being charmed and hypnotised. The other girls behind the doors halted their preparations for bedtime, staring out at her from behind the port windows in faint shock as she walked calmly beside the tall doctor of her own volition.

"There's a reason girls don't want to go in that room." Juniper stopped dead in her tracks and stared up at the taller, older woman who seemed to have all of the universe's answers. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Doctor Elliott quirked her lips and nodded slightly, exhaling a slow breath. "Yes, sometimes medicine tastes bitter but there's things that can be done to make it easier to swallow." The doctor mused, tersely. "Show me you're willing to try your hardest and I'll try my hardest to make it easy for you. Sound fair?"

Juniper scoffed but began to take measured, small footsteps again. "Nothing is fair in this world," she whispered quietly to herself.

"You're right." Doctor Elliott instantly agreed with her take on things. "But this isn't a punishment, try and remember that."

"Am I going to be mad with you tomorrow?" Juniper asked earnestly.

"Probably." Doctor Elliott didn't spare her feelings. "But I'll do my best not to deserve more of your anger than necessary. As I understand it, you have quite the right hook." She joked as they finally entered the room.

Juniper surveyed the therapy room with almost a child-like fascination as the door closed behind them. It was nerve wracking, frightening even, but she couldn't help but feel as though she were peering behind the veil of a tightly kept secret that on some deeply private level she wanted to know about. There was a hospital bed in the corner of the room with crisp sheets tight at the corners, stirrups and straps that were neatly left open, a metal side frame that had been collapsed down, as though it was specifically prepared just for her. Juniper swallowed and looked at the equipment placed on trays, some of which she recognised, some of which were utterly foreign and all the more macabre because of it. Then on the other side of the room there was a shower faucet that was without a curtain, fasteners bolted to the wall at wrist and ankle height to no doubt temper unruly girls who found themselves in need of being scrubbed clean.

Juniper gulped and tried not to look at the handful of orderlies and medical staff staring coldly at her from behind their black, pristine uniforms. She wondered what role they played in these therapy sessions, whether they were here out of professional requirement or because they simply enjoyed it. Juniper wouldn't have even fathomed the latter a mere two years ago, but her short time with Sir taught her that even the most unassuming people had the strangest, cruelest desires. Juniper certainly had the scars to prove it.

"Juni?" Doctor Elliott cleared her throat and sat down on a swivel chair, an open brown file balanced on her lap. "We're going to begin now, can you take your clothes off please?" She put on her large framed glasses and instantly became old enough to be her mother.

"Fuck off," Juniper scoffed in disbelief and wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

She didn't meant to be abrupt and rude, Juniper felt guilty for it the moment she saw the slow, displeased crease of Doctor Elliott's brow. She just didn't want to be imperfect or faulty, and that was profoundly how she felt at all times of the day save for when she was in the dreamy doctor's presence. Elliott never made her feel broken, or ugly, or burdensome. Elliott made her feel worthy, and the thought of the doctor changing her mind when she saw those deep, ugly scars that Sir had put on her body was unbearable in Juniper's mind.

"Juni, remember what we agreed?" Doctor Elliott pushed with a patient, soft tone. "Take your clothes off and place them on the desk, over there." She nodded to the space reserved for her dignity. "Be a good girl please."

Juniper closed her eyes and felt the flicker of something she had lost long ago, the quiet aching yearn to obey and be rewarded because of it. She fluttered her eyes open and stared at Doctor Elliott, who looked back at her with an unbothered, patient look as though they could stand-off all night like this and the doctor still wouldn't raise her voice a single octave. Slowly, Juniper undid the buttons of her silk pajama blouse and felt the cool air kicking out of the air conditioning vent goosebump the surface of her skin.

"Good girl," Doctor Elliott hummed and turned her attention to the paperwork in her lap while Juniper slowly undressed. "There's a good girl, Juni."

Those two little words felt so pleasantly ticklish inside Juniper's tummy.

When the procedure was complete, her pyjamas neatly folded up on the desk with her white plimsoll shoes placed on the top, Juniper breathed a congratulatory sigh of relief and tried not to look at her exposed body. Juniper could hear her own fastening heartbeat, the blood pumping around her ears, the whirring of the air conditioning, the measured breathing exhaling her nose, and there was no sound to be heard other than that. It felt strangely claustrophobic, as if the room had purposely been designed so there was no other stimuli to lose herself in.

"Underwear too, Juni." The doctor chirped politely, her voice echoing slightly. "Give your panties to the nice man next to you."

"No way! That isn't. That is not allowed—" Juniper stumbled over herself.

"Juniper," Doctor Elliott lowered her tone slightly. "Take your panties down your legs, now please."

"That isn't—" Juniper scratched her neck and shrivelled slightly, eyes snapping around the nightmarishly plain walls. "No, I can't do that. It's not allowed." She swallowed and closed her eyes, remembering the lessons Sir taught her as though he was hiding behind one of those black mysterious surgical masks waiting to catch her out.

"Who said it's not allowed?"

"Sir." The word fell off Juniper's lips before she could contain it. "Only sluts take their underwear off without his permission, good girls don't do that—"

"Stop, just breathe. You're okay." Doctor Elliott stood up until her long, broad shadow fell over Juniper. "Do you still belong to him, Juni?" She raised an eyebrow.

There was a long, pregnant pause.

Juniper closed her eyes and craned over herself to protect whatever slither of modesty she had left. "No, Doctor Elliott," she whispered. "Sir isn't my Sir anymore." It was breathed with relief.

"Good, that's right. You don't belong to your old dominant anymore, his rules are moot. Besides," Doctor Elliott whispered, "I know you're smart enough to realise that a good girl isn't defined by something as trivial as her undies, right?" The corner of her mouth quirked, and Juniper felt lighter because of it.

"Yes ma'am." Juniper nodded and felt that tiny, weak yearn to be obedient pull her belly again.

She reached behind her spine and unclasped her bra. The cold air stiffened her soft nipples by the time the plain white garment hit the floor, and the truth of it was that the whole ordeal was far less traumatic than Juniper anticipated it would be. The world continued to spin, the earth did not crack open and swallow her whole, and Doctor Elliott remained stood there with a small look of approval at the puckering, shy nipples on her chest.

Shakily, Juniper's fingers hung at the lip of her underwear just above her pubic hair. Juniper willed herself to pull them down and step her legs out of them, but she simply couldn't do it. 'Only dirty whores expose their disgusting filth parts without Sir's permission.' The memory of the words prevented her from taking her panties down. Juniper remembered the painful whacking to her bottom cheeks while the bevelled chastity belt that had been applied too tightly chafed her inner thighs, the memory refused to politely dissipate. Sir made her wear soiled, dirty panties underneath the belt for a week straight until her labia were utterly red raw. Juniper found herself stuck there, suffering that entire week all over again in the mere space of seconds while the world around her remained unaware.

Suddenly, firm latex hands grabbed her arms.

Juniper snapped her head around and caught sight of masked orderlies flanking either side of her — before they could presumably help hurry procedures along, Doctor Elliott spoke up and put a stop to it.

"Let her go, let's give her a moment to compose herself." The doctor lifted her hand and peered her cool blue eyes down her glasses, and the orderlies instantly let go. "Now, Juni, would you like to take your panties down by yourself or do you need someone to help you?" It was posed as a polite question, but Juniper instantly understood that the older woman was gently threatening her.